


hands open, heart open

by emmerrr



Series: go on, I dare you [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Farmer with a Bad Back Ronan Lynch, M/M, Massage Therapist Adam Parrish, Self-Indulgent, no magic, this is for fun, unrealistic and inappropriate business practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmerrr/pseuds/emmerrr
Summary: “I like him,” Henry says when Ronan’s gone. “He’s stoic.”“He’s something alright,” Adam says absently, and Henry waggles his eyebrows.“Think you’ve got yourself a new regular?”“Fuck me, I hope so.”“Adam Parrish!” Henry says delightedly. “I thought you were a professional.”--In which Adam Parrish is a masseuse, and Ronan Lynch has a bad back.





	hands open, heart open

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous tumblr prompt: if your'e still taking prompts. how about a pynch au with adam as a massage therapist and ronan as regular and they chat during their appointments ft. adam freaking out about ronan's tattoo and back muscles and ronan freaking out about adam's hands until adam is just like.....here's my personal number i'll do it for free.
> 
> I tried! this is the first time I've attempted a pynch AU, please be gentle with me.
> 
> *22/3/2018--this fic has been edited slightly in preparation for a part 2 that will be making an appearance at some point in the not too distant future. no major changes, but i like it better now :)

_“Adam, your two o’ clock’s here. Shall I send him in?”_ , Henry’s voice crackles through the intercom, startling Adam out of a daydream.

Adam’s just returned from his lunch-break following back-to-back appointments since 8am, and he’s got another packed afternoon in store for him despite the fact that what he’d  _really_  like to do is go home and sleep for a thousand years.

If only.

He sighs, then clicks the button on the intercom. “Sure, Henry. Send him on through.”

_“You got it, boss.”_

In the remaining minute or so he has, Adam pulls up the appointment details and runs through them briefly just to remind himself. It’s a first-timer, a Ronan Lynch, complaining of back discomfort. Other than a date-of-birth (he’s just a few months younger than Adam), that’s about all the information Adam has on his newest patient; an incomplete file even by Henry’s lax standards.

Knuckles rapping on the door-frame draw Adam’s attention and he looks up, then momentarily freezes at the specimen crowding his doorway. The man he’s faced with is tall and broad-shouldered and surly looking but in a hot way, his hair shaved short, dressed entirely in black from the beat-up leather jacket to the intimidating boots. Adam realises his jaw has slackened and fallen open, no doubt making him look like a gormless idiot, so he quickly pulls himself together.

He flashes the smile that he reserves for first-time patients and says, “Mr Lynch, is it?”

The man grunts and steps into Adam’s office. “Ronan.”

“Ronan,” Adam amends, and he stands up and holds his hand out. “I’m Adam Parrish, I’ll be your massage therapist for today.”

Ronan eyes Adam’s outstretched hand for just a little too long to be comfortable, but then he does begrudgingly shake it. Adam gestures to the chair opposite his desk and Ronan sits down and crosses his arms. Huffily. Adam’s smile starts to slip; a disgruntled patient first thing after lunch seems like a bad omen for a long and arduous afternoon.

Adam sits at his desk and glances at his computer where Ronan’s file is still open on the screen. “I’m a bit lacking on your details, I’m afraid,” he says. “I’d just like to check a few things with you if that’s okay?”

Ronan shrugs which irks Adam, but he takes it as permission to ask anyway. “The problem’s just listed as ‘back discomfort’ here, but are there any outlying circumstances I should be aware of?”

“Like what,” Ronan says flatly.

“Like is it being caused by an injury, for example, be it recent or old.”

“No.”

“Okay. . .” Adam types this into the file. “Is the pain constant, or just sometimes?”

“It’s not constant. But it’s often.”

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I run a farm.”

“Oh, right, okay. Lots of heavy lifting then, I reckon.”

“You reckon right,” Ronan says dryly. He’s not looking at Adam, but rather letting his gaze dart around the room, taking everything in. He keeps shooting glances at the massage table, something akin to suspicion in his gaze. It’s a little bit endearing, actually.

“You’re, uh, you’re supposed to lift with your legs, you know,” Adam can’t resist saying.

“Oh  _really?”_  Ronan says sarcastically, but there is the tiniest hint of a smile on his face and he locks his eyes on Adam’s for the first time since entering the office. “They teach you that in massage therapy school?”

“They do actually,” Adam replies matter-of-factly, rewarded with Ronan’s brief snort of laughter.

This seems to have been enough to loosen Ronan up a little, because he leans forward and abruptly asks, “Hey, is this place even like, fucking legit?”

“What do you  _mean_ by that?” Adam says, although he’s pretty sure he knows where Ronan’s doubt is coming from. He gets it a lot from first-timers.

“I dunno, it sort of seems all. . . new agey and shit.”

“It  _is_ 'new agey and shit’,” Adam says, air-quoting with as much derision as he can muster, because he's never understood why people might take that as a bad thing. 

The sign out front reads  _Fox Way_ _Aromatherapy, Spa, & Psychics_, but even that is a vast over-simplification of everything Fox Way can offer its patrons. "If you want, I can send you down the hall afterwards and have a colleague give you a tarot reading," Adam deadpans.

Ronan's answering look speaks volumes, and Adam suppresses a laugh. “You don’t need to be worried, Ronan. I’m certified. You're in good hands.”

Ronan glances at Adam's hands suspiciously, but he remains tight-lipped.

Adam just stops short of sighing. "Look, I'll even show you my certificate and everything."

Blue eyes slowly travel from Adam's hands back up to his face as Ronan regards him evenly. For a moment Adam really thinks Ronan might leave, but then, miraculously, he merely shrugs. “Nah, man, I’ll take your word for it.”

 “Thanks for that glowing display of support,” Adam says with a magnanimous smile that Ronan in no way deserves. “Alright, one more question. What made you book an appointment?”

“My friend made me,” Ronan says, looking like a petulant child with his arms still crossed. “I’m here under duress.”

Adam laughs lightly. “Okay, well—hang on, wait. . .” He trails off because this is starting to sound _very_ familiar. “You’re not Gansey’s friend, are you? Richard Gansey?”

“So he’s mentioned me,” Ronan replies, sounding resigned.

“Yeah, like six months ago! He said he had a friend who was a farmer with a bad back and that he was trying to get him to come and see me.”

Ronan smiles wryly—it's a good look—and does jazz-hands. “And here I am.”

Adam shared a couple of classes with Gansey in college and managed to strike up a friendship that had endured long past graduation. Despite life pulling them in different directions, they still make the effort to meet up every month or so to catch up in person, and it was on one of these occasions that Gansey had mentioned his farmer friend. Nothing had come of it, and Adam had, for the most part, forgotten about it. Until now.

Adam shakes his head at Ronan. Based on the limited information he has and everything he’s assuming from the two minutes since Ronan’s been in his office, he reckons that Ronan’s probably only here  _now_  because his pain has worsened. He is also potentially in more pain than he says he is, because he's clearly a stubborn ass. There's obviously a reason it took Gansey six months to convince him to make an appointment.

(Gansey is tenacious; Adam almost sympathises with Ronan.)

All in all, though, it’s a good thing Ronan’s finally here. Adam is very good at what he does.

“Alright then, Ronan. Take your jacket and shirt off and lie down on the massage table for me?”

It looks like it physically pains him to do so, but Ronan starts to do as he’s asked, albeit with plenty of grumbling under his breath. Adam returns his attention to his computer so that Ronan doesn’t feel scrutinised and only looks back over when Ronan has made himself comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as he can get given the circumstances.

Adam gets to his feet and heads over, unable to stop the slightly awed, “Oh!” that falls from his mouth when he gets closer.

“What?” Ronan asks, a little muffled thanks to his face currently being in the face-hole of the massage table.

“Your tattoo,” Adam says wonderingly. “It’s beautiful.”

“. . . Thanks,” Ronan mutters, and Adam can’t see his face but thinks he sounds a bit guarded; perhaps the tattoo is a touchy subject. It covers the entire expanse of Ronan’s back, creeping up his neck and over his shoulders. It’s all swirling vines and claws and beaks and flowers, and things Adam’s not sure he even has a name for. He thinks he could look at it for hours and not get bored.

With a jolt, he remembers that he actually has a job to do, and forces his attention into  _doing_  that job.

“Try and relax for me,” Adam says.

“I’m perfectly fucking rela— _Jesus fuck,_  Parrish, give a guy some warning!” Ronan exclaims when Adam first touches him, flinching so hard that it almost makes  _Adam_  jump.

Adam’s half-exasperated, half-amused by the theatrics. “Me telling you to relax  _was_  your warning. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Yeah, alright, smartass. You just took me by surprise.” Ronan breathes in and out, evidently psyching himself up. “Okay, go.”

Adam rests his hands flat on Ronan’s back near his shoulder-blades to acclimatise him to Adam’s touch. Gradually, the tension Ronan’s holding starts to loosen, and Adam gets to work.

He doesn’t say much; just works away at the knots seizing in Ronan’s muscles, and there’s a  _lot_  of them. Occasionally he asks Ronan a question about how he’s feeling, if it’s uncomfortable or painful, and Ronan grunts a response, but on the whole it’s quiet. Adam can usually tell when a patient wants conversation and when they’re just counting down the minutes until it’s over and Ronan definitely falls into the latter category. At least for now.

When the session is over, Adam steps back while Ronan puts his top back on, surreptitiously getting one last glance at that glorious tattoo and the  _very_  nice back it sits on.

“How was that?” Adam asks.

Ronan glares and begrudgingly says, “It wasn’t terrible.” He's clearly annoyed that Adam has actually managed to help him, which is gratifying on so many levels; Adam loves proving people wrong.

Adam smiles, quietly triumphant. “Did you want to book another appointment? Regular treatment would do wonders for you. There’s only so much I can do in one session, particularly as you obviously lead a very physical life.”

Ronan raises an eyebrow at that and smirks, and Adam prays his ears aren’t turning pink. He didn’t mean to imply any innuendo so he’s just gonna slide right on by like nothing happened.

After a moment Ronan finally replies, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

“A wise decision,” Adam says sagely, then leads Ronan out of his office and down to the welcome desk, where Henry is ‘busy’ playing solitaire on his computer. He looks up at their approach and smiles widely. Adam casually leans against the desk. “Henry, could you book Mr Lynch in for next week, please?”

“Abso _lutely_ ,” Henry says, and there’s a knowing edge to his voice that Adam doesn’t trust for a second. Henry taps away on his appointments spreadsheet and hums thoughtfully. “Next Thursday at. . .3? Any good?”

“That works,” Ronan says, and he’s gruff and grumpy again. But Adam's seen glimmers of the other side now, and he's determined to see it again.

Henry writes the details down on a card and hands it to Ronan. “Then I guess we’ll see you next week, Mr Lynch.”

“I guess you will.” Ronan gives Adam one last look, then he nods and walks out the door.

“I like him,” Henry says when Ronan’s gone. “He’s stoic.”

“He’s something alright,” Adam says absently, and Henry waggles his eyebrows.

“Think you’ve got yourself a new regular?”

“Fuck me, I hope so.”

“Adam  _Parrish!”_  Henry says delightedly. “I thought you were a professional.”

“I  _am_  a professional,” Adam says, and he plasters on a smile, feeling lighter than he has all day. “Send in my 2:30 please, Henry.”

Henry salutes. “You got it, boss.”

“And stop  _calling_  me that.”

* * *

 

Ronan’s phone starts blowing up with calls from Gansey almost the minute he gets home, and he finally answers with a harried, _“What?”_

“Oh, hello, you _are_ there,” Gansey says, bypassing Ronan’s less than polite greeting as he so often does.

“Yeah, I’m here. Why are you calling? Is there an emergency I need to know about?”

“What? No, I was just wondering if you bothered going to your appointment. With Adam.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes that.”

Ronan sighs. “Yes, Gansey, I went to the appointment and let your friend poke me in the back repeatedly. Happy?”

“Enormously. How was it?”

“It was—it was fine.” Ronan sort of wants to ask Gansey why he never mentioned that his friend Adam Parrish the massage therapist was also inconveniently attractive. And funny in a dry sort of way. And with hands that must have been gifted by the Angels themselves because _Jesus fucking Christ_.

But he doesn’t ask Gansey these questions, because he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Does your back feel any better?”

“A bit.”

“See? What did I tell you,” Gansey says, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. “Are you going to go again?”

It’s through gritted teeth that Ronan gets out a, “Yes.”

“Oh, good!” Gansey says happily. “I knew it would help you, and going regularly really is best, you know. And Adam’s very good. What did you think of him, by the way?”

“He was fine,” Ronan says, and it works doubly because it doesn’t make him sound too enthused and also Adam really was _fiiiiine_. Ronan trusts that Gansey won’t pick up on the subtext.

Listening to Gansey go on and on about Adam isn't exactly helpful though (honestly, Gansey seems to be half in love with the guy to hear the way he sings his praises), and Ronan soon makes his excuses and hangs up.

He doesn't necessarily  _mean_ to think about Adam in the week that follows, but he can't exactly help where his subconscious takes him. Every time his back so much as twinges, he's reminded that he'll soon be back at Fox Way under Adam's clever hands.

Jesus, he needs to get a grip.

When Thursday rolls around, Ronan’s heart is fluttering almost embarrassingly fast as he walks through the doors and sees Adam loitering near the welcome desk. The receptionist—Henry, if Ronan remembers correctly—winks at Adam when he spots Ronan, and Adam mutters something under his breath that makes Henry laugh.

To Ronan, Adam says, “Welcome back. Come right on through, Ronan.”

It’s a little easier this time now that Ronan has some idea what to expect, and it’s not quite as uncomfortable, probably thanks to the muscles Adam managed to loosen up in the last session. In fact, it feels pretty damn good this time around. Ronan relaxes.

He gets  _too_ relaxed.

“You’re pretty good with your hands, Parrish,” Ronan says, and then his brain catches up and he sort of wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Considering that’s pretty integral to my job, that’s good to know,” Adam says, the smile in his voice evident, but he manages not to laugh outright and it’s very decent of him really. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Ronan says weakly. His calm and cool exterior is crumbling around him; Ronan has never felt less chill in his entire life.

As if sensing Ronan’s embarrassment, Adam steers the conversation elsewhere. “So how long have you been running a farm?”

“It’s my family’s farm. I’ve been in charge of it since my dad died a few years ago.”

“On your own?” Adam asks, and it’s a relief that he didn’t get awkward and say he was sorry for Ronan’s loss. Ronan never knows what to do when people say that.

“With my mom. And I have a few people who work for me. My little brother Matthew helps when he’s back from college. Declan, my older brother, does a bit whenever he’s home, too.”

“That’s nice,” Adam says. “A family affair.”

Ronan’s vaguely surprised that he’s revealed so much to someone he hardly knows. Maybe it’s something to do with how relaxed Adam is making him feel. Maybe it’s that Adam doesn’t really seem to expect anything from Ronan. Whatever the reason, Ronan finds he doesn’t actually mind; Adam doesn’t seem to be asking questions purely to be nosy which is incredibly refreshing in a town like this.

“Do you have a dog? I want a dog, but my apartment is too small.” Adam sighs mournfully.

“Nah, not at the moment. I have a raven, though.”

Adam’s hands still for a second. “You have a _raven?”_

“Yep,” Ronan says. “Her name’s Chainsaw. I found her when she was a baby and she kind of imprinted on me, I guess.”

Adam huffs a laugh and says, “ _Chainsaw._ That. . . that makes perfect sense actually. Do you walk around with her perched on your shoulder?”

“Sometimes. All my shirts have fucking holes in them thanks to her.”

Adam snorts. “That’s amazing. It’s like you’re a super-villain and she’s your familiar.”

Ronan smiles; he very much likes that analogy.

By the end of the session, Ronan thinks that’s the most he’s spoken to one person in ages without feeling like it was a gigantic waste of his time. Weird.

“You know, if you want you can just set up a standing appointment,” Adam says off-hand as Ronan’s putting his jacket back on. "Might make it easier for you."

It’s a no-brainer really.

“I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 

It becomes a regular thing.

Ronan has a standing appointment with Adam every Thursday at 3pm, and Adam does a really bad job of pretending it’s not the highlight of his week.

On this particular Thursday morning he rolls into work with a spring in his step. Blue, his co-worker and friend, is sitting cross-legged on the welcome desk talking to Henry but both of their gazes swivel to Adam as he makes his entrance.

“Why do you look so happy, it’s so _early_ ,” Blue complains.

“Leave him alone, boss,” Henry says, because that nickname isn’t just limited to Adam. “It’s Thursday.”

“Ohhh yeah, Thursday’s the day Adam’s crush comes in.” She smiles somewhat sinisterly. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen him yet. Adam let me take the appointment, I want to see what he’s like.”

“Fuck off, he’s _my_ patient, you’ll scare him off. And I do _not_ have a crush,” Adam lies terribly. “Here, I bought you both caffeine. Stop picking on me.” He plonks the cup carrier onto the desk and picks up his own coffee.

Blue gasps as she reaches for her own. “I knew I was friends with you for a reason. I love you, Adam Parrish.”

“Uh huh. Just remember that the next time you tease me about my crush.” Oops.

“Oh so you _admit_ it then?” A smug grin spreads across Blue’s face and Henry leans forward in his chair, smiling triumphantly as he watches Adam’s reaction.

“I’m an adult, I don’t have to admit anything ever,” Adam says loudly, walking swiftly down to his office, Blue and Henry’s laughter ringing out behind him.

They're not _wrong_ though, and Adam's good mood carries him through all of his early appointments. After lunch the time drags and he can's help but clock watch as the time ticks closer to 3pm.

Usually, Ronan is right on time and Henry doesn’t even bother letting Adam know through the intercom, he just sends Ronan up. Today, however, it gets to 3:05 and there’s still no sign. Frowning, Adam pokes his head out into the corridor and peers down towards the welcome desk. Ronan is there, but to Adam’s absolute horror, he’s been accosted by Blue, who is blocking the way to Adam’s office.

Ronan’s looking down at her (because he’s considerably taller) with a bemused expression on his face, but then his gaze lifts and meets Adam’s, and he. . . _smiles_. Just for a second.

Adam is _fucked_.

Ronan looking up unfortunately alerts Blue’s attention to Adam’s presence and she whirls around. She doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“Hi, Adam,” she says sweetly. “I was just talking to your _favourite_ patient.” The emphasis she heaves on _favourite_ lacks any and all subtlety. Henry watches it all unfold with a delighted expression on his face. Ronan, on the other hand, is unreadable.

Working at Fox Way with teasing friends like Blue and Henry makes Adam wonder if this was the high school experience he missed out on when he was actually  _in_ high school. At the very least, he's an adult now, and should be able to handle it better than he would have done as a teenager.

In theory, at least.

Adam smiles at Blue in a way he hopes lets her know she’s in trouble. “Don’t you have something more important to be doing, Blue?”

“I don’t, actually. It’s a slow day.” She gestures behind her to the empty waiting room, and as she does so Ronan neatly steps around her and walks up to Adam. “It was enlightening to meet you, Ronan,” she calls up to him.

“Likewise, maggot,” he says with a half-hearted wave over his shoulder, and Adam ushers him inside, shutting the door on Blue’s faux-offended scoff.

“Sorry about Blue. She’s just bored.”

Ronan shrugs, already removing his jacket. “’S’okay,” he says. Then he grins. “Hey, am I really your favourite patient?”

“Sure,” Adam says, busying himself straightening some papers on his desk. “I say that to all my patients, though.”

“That’s _cold_ , Parrish.” Ronan puts a hand over his now very bare chest, wounded expression firmly in place.

“Oh, shut up.” Adam balls up a post-it note and throws it at him. “Get on the table and stop fishing for compliments.”

“But I _need_ to with you, you won’t give them out for free,” Ronan says, flashing Adam another toothy grin before getting up on the table and settling down. It flummoxes Adam for a couple of seconds. There’s a spark between them, that’s been the case for a while now, but it hasn’t exactly gone acknowledged by either of them yet.

Now it sort of feels like it _has_ been.

Now it sort of feels like it’s Adam’s move.

* * *

 

Ronan’s now been going to see Adam on a weekly basis for a little over two months. Thanks to Adam’s quite frankly magic hands, Ronan’s back has never felt better, so much so that a weekly massage no longer seems necessary. Monthly, maybe—Ronan still has to lift a _lot_ of heavy stuff—but weekly seems like overkill.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to keep coming back week-after-week. After all, his crush on Adam has developed into full-blown feelings, involving emotions and shit.

The thing about Adam is that he's smart about, well, _everything_ apparently, and he’s funny and kind and cute, but he’s also a little shit sometimes in the _best_ possible way. Ronan is so, totally gone for him. It's the first time he's felt the bite of possibility with anyone for a long, long time. And in a way that feels _real_ and not just imagined, because it's about so much more than just attraction. Honestly, it’s awful.

The crux of the issue is that now that he clearly no longer needs so much attention on his back, partnered with his aforementioned feelings for Adam, Ronan’s starting to feel a little, well, _creepy_ about the whole thing.

It feels more intimate somehow now, but his relationship with Adam is still a professional one. It doesn’t seem fair. Ronan doesn’t want to take advantage.

It’s with a heavy heart that he goes into what will most likely be his last session for at least a month. By which time Adam will probably have found a _new_ favourite patient and forgotten all about Ronan.

Except no. There’s something there, Ronan’s sure there is.

(He really thinks he’s sure.)

Ronan arrives and goes straight over to the desk, where Henry is on the phone. Ronan’s on a first-name basis with nearly everyone who works here now, he thinks, including who he almost affectionately refers to as the three witches who own the place, Blue’s mother Maura, terrifying Calla, and Persephone, who Adam thinks the world of if the way he talks about her is anything to go by.

Henry acknowledges Ronan with a cheerful wave and jerks his head back towards Adam’s office, which Ronan takes as his permission to go straight through. He’s ten minutes early, so Adam must not have had an appointment before Ronan’s if he’s free already.

He raps on the door-frame when he gets there, as has become his custom, and tries to ignore the swooping in his stomach when Adam looks up and smiles. Ronan wants to slide his fingers into Adam’s hair and kiss him, more than he's ever wanted to do anything in his life, but he represses the urge.

“Parrish,” he says.

“Ronan. You’re early.”

“I would’ve waited, but Henry sent me through. Are you busy?”

“Nah, come in, sit down. Do you want a coffee or anything, as you’ve got an extra ten minutes?”

Ronan almost says yes, but then realises that if he does, Adam will most likely leave the room to go and _make_ the coffee, and he doesn’t want him to. It sounds silly when he thinks about it, but he doesn’t want to waste any of his remaining minutes. The thought of not seeing Adam every week is already bumming him out. He’d like to see him every _day_ preferably, and that’s a big thing for Ronan to admit, even if it’s just to himself.

“No thanks,” he says, taking a seat. “I’m good.”

Adam watches him intently for a moment with a frown on his face. “Are you okay? You look. . . I dunno, sad? Pissed? It’s hard to tell with you.”

Ronan lets out a little laugh, but it sounds bitter even to his own ears. “No, Parrish, I’m not sad or pissed.”

Adam shrugs. “If you say so.” He clearly doesn’t quite believe Ronan, but he won’t push. Because Adam’s good like that.

Ronan sighs. “Look, Parrish, I may as well tell you now, but this’ll be my last weekly session. My back’s great right now and it doesn’t need so much attention.”

Ronan doesn’t think he’s imagining it when Adam’s face falls briefly, but then he bounces back and goes for a wry smile that falls a bit flat. “Ronan Lynch, are you breaking up with me?”

It's a joke; Adam's going for levity, but Ronan doesn’t return the smile and instead looks at the floor. “We can just play it by ear, yeah? I’ll make an appointment as and when I need one.”

“Sure, Ronan,” Adam says, and Ronan’s definitely not imagining his suddenly clipped tone. “Whatever you need.”

The air’s changed; it feels awkward all of a sudden, and Ronan doesn’t even want a massage at _all_ anymore. He shouldn’t have come in here like he was on his way to a fucking funeral; he’s made it weird and there’s still all this charged tension between them, and this was _so_ not how this was supposed to go. Time with Adam always makes Ronan feel lighter. He doesn’t want to taint those memories in his last session.

He stands up.

“C’mon, Parrish.”

Adam eyes him warily. “. . . What?”

“Come. _On_. Come for a drive with me.”

“Ronan,” Adam says but he’s smiling a little now, the barest whisper of a thing. “I can’t, I’m on the clock.”

“It’s my session. And it’s already paid for. You have at least half an hour free to come on a drive with me. If you _want_ to, that is.”

Adam arches an eyebrow. “You don’t want what you’ve actually paid for then? Your back’s fine today?”

“My back’s fucking fantastic, Parrish, look at this.” He does a few stretches, a few twists. “See? Not even a twinge. You’re a fucking great massage therapist, Adam. Fucking first-class. Now let’s. _Go_.”

Adam hesitates for all of a second, but then the rarest of his smiles—the one Ronan’s already decided he likes best—makes an appearance and he gets to his feet. “Half an hour, Ronan,” he says.

“Don’t worry, Parrish, I drive really fuckin’ fast.”

“That’s reassuring,” Adam replies, but Ronan _thinks_ he sounds fond.

Ronan leads the way out and hears Adam remark, “We’re going on a field-trip,” to Henry, who merely calls after them, “Have him home by midnight, Ronan!”

“Y’hear that, Ronan?” Adam says, catching up to Ronan in the carpark and elbowing him lightly in the side. “Have me home by _midnight_.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Duly noted.”

They get into Ronan’s BMW and he peels out of the carpark like a bat out of hell. He only has limited time—Henry’s midnight quip aside, Adam really does have to be back by 3:30—and he knows exactly where he’s taking them.

The way Ronan drives, it only takes a few minutes to get there. They pull into a secluded spot by the lake and Ronan shuts off the engine.

“Oh man,” Adam says wistfully. “I haven’t been here in ages.” He gets out of the car, and Ronan follows.

They go down to the water’s edge and Adam picks up a stone, inspects it closely, then tosses it aside. He finds another, nods in satisfaction, then turns and throws it at the water. It skips five times before sinking, and Ronan lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, Parrish.”

“It’s all in the wrist,” Adam says, but he’s obviously pleased, and he bends down to find another.

That’s how they spend the next fifteen minutes or so before they have to head back, skipping stones across the lake, talking, laughing. It eases the ache in Ronan’s chest, if at least for a little while. He’s glad they did this. He’s glad he got to spend a little time with Adam away from his place of work, as brief as it may be.

If nothing else, at least they’ll always have had this.

The journey back is quiet, and when Ronan parks up outside, he leaves the engine running. He’d really rather not come back inside. He'd rather a clean getaway.

“So I’ll, uh, I’ll be seeing you then, Adam,” he says. “I’ll make an appointment when I need one.”

Adam nods and reaches his hand towards the door handle, but then he stops, sighs expansively and shakes his head. “Ah, screw it,” he says. “Give me your phone.”

Ronan hands it over, dumbfounded, and watches as Adam deftly types something into it. When he’s finished, he holds up the screen to show Ronan. On the display is Adam’s name and a number.

“This is my personal phone-number,” Adam says. “If you wanted to, I dunno, see me at all before you bother making your next appointment, feel free to use it.”

Ronan raises his eyebrows. And he smirks. “Are you telling me you make house-calls, Parrish?”

“Fuck off, no. Asshole. I _do_ do dates, however,” he says, and the way his cheeks start to turn pink is the best thing Ronan’s seen all day. Scratch that, all  _week._

“Dates, huh,” Ronan says. “Interesting. I gotta admit though, I really fucking hate using my phone.”

Adam grins. “Then send me a raven.” He kisses Ronan on the cheek then gets out of the car before Ronan can react, waving obnoxiously before he disappears inside.

Ronan touches his cheek lightly where Adam’s lips have just been, then he laughs, puts the car in gear and drives away.

Almost all Ronan can think about on his way home is how much Gansey’s going to enjoy this.

(He also wonders if calling as soon as Adam finishes work would seem a bit too keen. He decides he doesn’t care; he _is_ keen.)

(Adam doesn’t mind.)


End file.
